


Lives Connected

by Kayim



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 00:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayim/pseuds/Kayim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a hired gun wasn't what Chris Larabee had grown up hoping he would become, but he knew that sometimes life never quite worked out how you expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lives Connected

Being a hired gun wasn't what Chris Larabee had grown up hoping he would become, but he knew that sometimes life never quite worked out how you expected.

Once upon a time, he'd had dreams and hopes, but those had gone up in flames, literally, the day his wife and son were burned to death. In certain moments of clarity he wondered if his life had actually ended that day, or whether he was now living someone else's life. When his family had still been alive, he had run a horse ranch that was fairly successful. He and Sarah had raised some of the most highly sought after animals in the territory. By the time Adam was born, they were well on their way to becoming more than just a moderate success. After the deaths, the Larabee Ranch had been neglected to such a stage that it was barely functioning, let alone making any money. Alcohol induced depression had led to Chris going from being a husband and father to a drunken gunslinger who carried the double burden of guilt and a death wish.

It hadn't taken long before Chris sold the ranch, for a hell of a lot less than it should have been worth, and headed as far away as he could get. The memories of Sarah and Adam infiltrated every waking moment and he became more and more careless. In a small run-down town out west, he found a new career as a hired gun. He took the type of jobs that no-one else could handle. His drunken anger was becoming legend. People needing protection would seek help elsewhere - they were more frightened of the "Man in Black" than those they needed protecting from.

He soon found himself working less and less and drinking more often. It was a rare evening when he managed to make it to a bed before he passed out. The rooms he stayed in, despite being in different towns, were almost identical. Tiny, unfurnished rooms that usually had either cockroaches or fleas. Or both. It was all he could afford, as on the rare occasion he still managed to find work, the money soon went on whiskey.

His work, if it could even be called that, was reduced to threatening landowners and townsfolk. He had finally hit an all-time low - becoming the very person he hated most. He didn't care though. The only thing that mattered to him was getting enough money for some more alcohol. Whiskey was always the preference, but sometimes the only thing he could afford was a local gut-rot. It didn't matter. All he needed to do was get drunk. It was only when he was drunk that the memories and the pain would finally begin to subside.

Six months later and he didn't even make the pretence of working. The pain was increasing in strength, penetrating even through the whiskey-filled haze. Everywhere he looked he saw Sarah's face. When he closed his eyes, he heard Adam's voice calling out to him, begging for help, asking him why he hadn't saved them. Chris's days were spent in his cockroach-filled room with only a bottle for company. The nights were identifiable from the days only in their location, when he would find the cheapest saloon in whichever town he had landed in.

It was in one of those saloons, dark and dingy, surrounded by homeless cowboys and desperate whores, that he heard a voice he thought he recognized.

"Jesus, Chris, what the hell happened to you?"

Chris could barely see the figure in front of him, but when strong hands reached under his arms and pulled him up, he was in no position to offer any resistance.

"Should never have left you."

He knew the voice was familiar, someone from his past, but he still couldn't place it. With a drunken squint he tried to stare at the person who was currently dragging him up the stairs. He leaned heavily against the doorframe as the other person opened the door to the bare closet he called his room. With little persuasion, he was herded towards the bed and was dropped on it, face down.

As he closed his eyes and let the blissful sleep overtake him, he thought he heard someone whisper good night to him.

"Mus' be dreamin'", he thought to himself. "Got no-one left to say g'night to me."

*

Buck sat on the hard wooden chair, watching closely as Chris slept. It was pure chance that had led him here, back to the side of his once-closest friend, and nothing was going to take him away again.

Chris tossed and turned, his sleep interrupted by nightmares of a kind that Buck knew he would never be able to chase away. As he watched, Buck recalled the days that followed the horrific fire.

It had been his fault, Buck knew that. If he hadn't kept Chris away that extra night perhaps one of them may have been able to save Sarah and Adam. But he had, and there was no turning back the clock. So he stayed by Chris's side, trying to ease his friend through the heartache that was suffocating them both. His guilt, combined with Chris's grief, led to them fighting more and more often, both trying to find someone to lash out at, to blame for the fire. Eventually, Buck couldn't stay. He hoped that Chris would finally realize that there were still people who cared about him, but he couldn't sit by as he slowly killed himself. And so, one morning, he dropped by the cabin to say goodbye and found Chris already well on his way to being drunk. What was supposed to have been a difficult but civil conversation quickly escalated into a brawl that left Buck with a broken nose and Chris collapsed on the floor sobbing like a baby. Buck had shaken his head and turned to walk out.

Buck, while also grieving, had survived slightly better than Chris, finding work on a nearby ranch. He was over-experienced for the type of work he was doing, but it was easy money and kept his mind occupied. He tried his best to put Chris out of his mind, knowing that his friend had probably destroyed himself by then, but couldn't help wondering. They had been friends for a long time and giving up on someone wasn't usually his style.

He deliberated for a while, until one night he had a dream about Sarah. He'd loved her like a sister and often thought about her and Adam, but this dream had left a clear message in his mind. He needed to find Chris. He needed to tie up loose ends. He needed to forgive himself. Not knowing where to turn, Buck found himself in a small town aptly named Destiny. In a run-down church, he discovered the answers to the questions he had and eventually came to the conclusion that he didn't need to forgive himself for the fire, but for the abandonment of his best friend.

It didn't take too long to track Chris down. His fiery temper and near-perfect gun skills left a trail as obvious as breadcrumbs. Eventually he found him. Barely recognizable, Chris was unshaven, his hair matted and almost black from the dirt in it. He stank, wearing clothes that had obviously been worn for weeks, and was slouched down so far in his chair that identifying him was near impossible, but Buck still found him.

As he pulled him up the stairs and brought him to this room, he silently swore that things would go better for them now. That he would never let Chris get like this again.

No matter what it took.


End file.
